


Boon Companions

by ilyena_sylph, Merfilly



Series: Wintergreen DCU Free For All Table [2]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilyena_sylph/pseuds/ilyena_sylph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then Wintergreen found the perfect student</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boon Companions

"What's the fuss over with the yanks?" 

"Seems a boy of theirs forgot how to follow the orders he was given."

"Shame...someone forget to tell him there's a war on?"

Laughter filtered around the small group gathered for a cup of tea or coffee or maybe just a cigarette and a bit of gossip. They didn't note the major listening in, then shrewdly looking over toward the American side of the Allied camp.

"Tell me something," he finally said, causing them all to snap up smartly. "Just what was the order in question, that a man like that Sampson fellow would go and round up two of the meanest looking blokes and drag them to the far side of the camp?"

There was a moment's silence, a nervous shuffle, and then one, the one who'd spoken of orders, cleared his throat. "Sir, the yanks found a village with insurgents, and he failed to fire on all the enemy present, from what I understand, Sir."

"Inside a village, you say? The only village within marching distance of here had nothing but a handful of people, let alone insurgents to spare for an entire platoon," the Major scoffed. He looked over again at the Americans. "I'll be back in a bit. Wouldn't do to have a discipline issue affecting both sides, now would it?"

"No, Sir!" the group chorused. They watched the major walk away, toward the American's far side, and then resumed chatting after a safe time.

"That yank officer better have all his facts straight, or Wintergreen will find a way to pin him back right smart," was all that was said about the Major's stop by their gossip circle.

* * *

Slade glared balefully at the cup in the older man's hand, not trusting it or the wry smile beneath that mustache. After the night prior, he wasn't sure he could trust the Brit anymore, not when his head was pounding and he did not remember coming to a tent, let alone the superior officer's tent set in the British half of camp.

"Drink it. It's coffee..."

Slade took the mug and took a long sip of the tepid stuff before Wintergreen finished. Armies ran on coffee, after all.

"...and a bit of the nip that made you head sore," the elder officer said cheerfully, as the alcohol made itself known. "What's the saying? 'Hair of the dog'?"

"You're out to kill me," the American managed as he got his breath back.

* * *

"There is release in giving up the full control to another," Wintergreen said, idly chasing a bit of fish around his bowl with the chopsticks. Slade grunted, concentrating on actually eating more than speaking, but he was listening. The year that he had been in Wintergreen's company had taught him more than he had ever expected to learn in a theater of war. "Of course, such control should only ever be given to one you trust implicitly, and I've already told you about how rare a thing that should be."

"I trust you that far," Slade did comment then, knowing it was true. They'd exchanged life debts often enough now that neither man was keeping up with who was on top of the saves.

"And I you. But in addition to the trust must be a belief that the other is capable of enforcing the control."

Slade considered that part, and then smiled at his friend, his mentor, and his lover. "Not really a problem from my side of things. I've seen you handle worse than a half grown kid like me."

Wintergreen laughed at that description. "If you're half-grown, my boy, you must be of ancient Norse blood, that of the giants!"

Slade merely laughed, and filed the conversation away for nights when it would be more practical. God only knew how much Wintergreen's willingness to distract him from the reality of war had kept him sane so far.

* * *

Watching Slade run through a tantrum over the shoddy quality of the officers being assigned to his unit -- theirs, really, as he was in no hurry to leave where he'd been assigned -- was rather like watching a one-sided rugby match, but Wintergreen had to admit Slade was inventive in his invectives. When it finally started to sound like Slade was winding down, he spoke up, derailing the rest of the tantrum.

"If you hate the quality so much, m'boy, you should go to the school and get your own bars."

For just a minute, it looked like the young American was giving it serious consideration, but he shook his head. "Don't think they'd take me -- that requires a diploma, last time I checked the regs..."

"I take it this would be something of a difficult nature to acquire for you?" Wintergreen was intrigued to learn just why, privately betting on a chance to finish school. He'd been certain his young friend was younger than the military thought for quite some time, after all.

Slade gave a slow nod, looking at him through slightly narrowed eyes, "Yeah, it would."

"A piece of paper. How many schools are there in your country?" Wintergreen's eyes were crafty as he asked the question.

Despite his expression, the question still drew a look as though his young friend thought he had absolutely lost his mind. "How would anyone ever know that off the top of their head, Wintergreen? With two or three -- maybe more -- a county, and way more than that in the cities... I wouldn't even want to make a guess."

"Exactly!" Wintergreen smiled at him, expression cheerful. "Any towns have a bad fire in recent years near to where you lived? Tornado? Flood?"

"A couple. Frannie wrote me one letter, told me about a twister that went right through the next town over, caused some real chaos..."

"A beautiful opportunity to create documents that can neither be proven, nor disproven." Wintergreen considered for a moment. "I'll have to see a true diploma of an American school, mind you. To get the vague impression."

Slade blinked at him, then it looked as though his friend was starting to catch on, as his eyes started to light with the idea. "You'd... Well, you've got a point. It's not like they'd be likely to go bother the superintendent or the board for one kid that'd have graduated a couple years back." He paused, thinking. "Bet Frannie'd do it for me, or get me one -- if she wasn't so mad at me still over enlisting early, at least."

"If you tell her it means you're making the most of what you've done, I'm sure you mot...step-mother would be inclined to help. I can manufacture most papers, but I just need to see one first."

"She probably would... only problem would be getting her in on it, without someone catching on. Have any bright ideas there?"

Wintergreen considered, and then smiled again. "May I write your dear step-mother?"

"Sure," Slade shrugged a shoulder, apparently uncaring if he did so, though there was a powerful curiosity in his eyes.

Wintergreen drafted a quick note to Frannie, asking if she had any mimeographs of the diplomas of her sons, and if not, perhaps she had one of a local school anyway, so that he could suitably estimate how to place such a thing in the photo-journal he was putting together on his young friend. He let Slade read it, complete with flattering phrases that would have a sensible mother smiling proudly.

"There," he said once he was finished. "...she's not apt to snitch you to a stranger, so she'll come up with someone's diploma so I can see its dimensions."

"You, Wintergreen, are devious," the tone sounded more a compliment than anything else. "But it ought to work. Though she's likely to send you back a letter wondering how I hoodwinked you into saying any of that."

That made Wintergreen laugh, before he poured a pair of tumblers half-full of whiskey, offering one to his friend. "Here. A drink to finish off that temper, and unwind your body."

Slade smiled slowly and reached over to take the drink. "How you always manage to have good alcohol..."

"The secret is in knowing who does carry a fake diploma...."

* * *

The hardest part with waiting for a jump was being packed like sardines in a can. Still, with all 660 men planned for this exercise needing to be on the ground and in maneuvers with less than five minutes to spare, this would suit.

Perhaps he should have taken the attachment to the Americans after all, noting that several of his comrades could give away the mission by odor alone.

Well, once he was on the ground, he had his orders to lead a maneuver to encounter the Americans in a pincer attack. It was a crack unit, as their President was officialy declaiming any role in the Crisis, so Wintergreen knew who would be there. No doubt Slade was already wreaking havoc in his unit, and they'd have tales to swap, Wintergreen consoled himself. The only benefit he could see to such tight packing is it made him far less leery of the actual jump into the darkness of pre-dawn.

* * *

Wintergreen had nearly had a heart attack the first time that full strength came to bear in front of him. Then the mask had come off, and Wintergreen had known only gratitude for the results of the experiment.

He never failed to appreciate the raw power of the man he worked with. Even before the serum, Slade Wilson was strong. Now, however, he was beyond human.

That they would need that strength to get them both through the years wasn't even a hazy thought in the Brit's mind. All he could see was the potential, and was blinded to the dangers.

* * *

Wintergreen knew things had changed. Once again, the winds of fate had shifted, blowing against him, and in new directions.

He was feeling his age, feeling the many years of campaigns and just wanting to have the time to come to terms with those changes. He looked at his young wife, the toddling boy and crawling girl at play on the carpet beside the couch she was on, and knew it was time. He'd seen two full wars, and so many minor skirmishes he had lost track of them. This latest bit, running ghost missions in a land that had not wanted any foreigners there, had nearly killed him. If not for Slade...

And that was the true pain of it. The fact he knew, beyond certainty, that everything had shifted with his old friend. There would be no more lessons to impart, nor more running as equals. Slade's rescue of him had shown Wintergreen the truth. His boy, the American soldier he so loved, was by far his superior, and Wintergreen truly was only the observer now. 

He picked up the phone, making the appointment to meet his superior officers. It was time to resign his commission, for there was no more need to be a soldier in his life.

* * *

"Slade..."

"The doctor said you are not well enough."

The two stubborn men stared at one another from across the table between them.

"Stop treating me like an invalid."

"Stop acting like a child Grant's age."

The elder of the pair glared about that remark, then sighed. "Slade, I know my own mind and body! I am sick and tired of remaining here at home!"

"I can't let you take the risk of leaving, Wintergreen. At your age..." He hated it even as he said it, but the kindly look in his friend's eyes told Slade there was no harm, and he might even have won this round.

"A game of chess then, and you spot me a knight."

* * *

Wintergreen kept a weather eye on the boys, idly noting that his daughter Jo was provoking Grant's temper. The idea of a holiday with both families had seemed a good idea at first, but the second day had produced a thrashing between his elder, Edward, and Slade's Grant. It hadn't been over anything either boy would admit to, leaving Wintergreen suspicious of his daughter. She was a few months senior to Slade's Joseph, headstrong, and apparently a bully despite being all of four years old.

The children were all firmly under the belief he had dozed off, the women were out shopping, and Slade had slipped away to touch base with a potential client. The situation among the children was rapidly escalating, with Edward ready to defend his sister at the drop of a hat...and then Joseph intervened.

In moments, all four were playing peacefully, and Wintergreen was left wondering just how two martial spirits like the Wilsons had produced a peacemaker.

* * *

Slade lifted the papers significantly, and Wintergreen sighed softly. This day had been weeks in the making, with his evasions of not needing to go home right away, and Slade refusing to press out of his own deep brooding.

"She's divorcing you? This is why you have not left me? You don't have a woman or children to return to, so you spread your pity on me?"

Wintergreen tried not to flinch, to not puff up and yell in the face of that anger being shoved his way. Slade was like a wounded bear right now, the eye still not fully puckered over, the scar of Joe's injury and his wife's attempt on him too fresh.

"No, Slade Wilson. I have no pity for you." That quiet sentence was like a slap to the raging ex-soldier's face, and he stopped to glare at Slade. "She's divorcing me, as stated in the fine print under causes, because I have chosen you over being home with her." That made Slade rock back on his heels. "If you ever doubt where my loyalty lies again, or confuse it with pity or other unworthy sentiment, Slade, I will find a means to remind you firmly." He inclined his head forward, the air cool across the bare skin of his neck. "I owe you my life, more times than I can ever count, sir. I serve, because you would never let me down by not being there for me."

The shift in air pressure was the first answer, then Slade's hand clasped his shoulder. "Forgive me, old friend."

Wintergreen looked up, aching for older days, when things had been more equal between them, but he kept his hands folded behind his back. "Always."

* * *

Slade always moved in faster than Wintergreen could follow. It didn't keep the older man from moving through the wake of destruction Slade left. How many times that had worked in the favor of the mercenary, as his rapid pass through hostile enemies left threats behind him, neither man could count.

Slade's typical reaction to a well-timed shot or buffalo with a pistol butt was steady enough to be an inside joke.

"I knew you would be there."

What had never needed to be said was that they would always have each other covered, so long as they both lived.


End file.
